3 Times Jack Almost Killed a Believer, and 1 Time He Actually Did
by Writeous
Summary: It's all fun and games until someone goes a little overboard.
1. Monty - In Which Jack Is Frustrated

**Could be considered a trigger for some people, but I'll try to keep this story from becoming too graphic/bad.**

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They're kidding, right?

You crouch on a rooftop, clutching your staff with a death grip as you stare at the middle school across the street.

A light dusting of snow clings to your eyelashes, but you shake it off, flicking your staff as you do, causing another sheet of the cold white particles to fall, harder than before. It coats everything, growing visibly thicker with every passing minute.

You wait, waiting for the doors to fling open to a wave of rising preteens, waiting for them to see your frost and remember the little kid inside of them again. But it doesn't come, even after you increase the snowfall.

The wind continues to howl around you, your frustration reflected back in it.

You perk up at the sign of movement coming down the road. Narrowing your eyes, you try to identify the vehicle. It's a truck of some sort, pushing along a type of tall metal sheet that curves. Snow gathers in front of it, piling up.

Once you recognize it, you groan. A snow plow. They put a freaking _snow plow_ in your home.

You lift off the roof, letting the wind carry you closer. The dark gray plow barrels down the empty road, the only thing reflected in the closed shop windows. You land lightly on the top of it, choking down a cough as smoke puffs in your face. You crawl across the top, leaning down to see through the windshield at the driver.

He's a burly man, with a permanent scowl and a stomach that suggests he probably over indulged at Thanksgiving a couple of weeks ago. A cigarette hangs out of his lips, and he takes one hand off of the steering wheel for a moment to take a breath out of it, revealing tainted yellow teeth.

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, pushing yourself up. You don't recognize this guy, and you're kind of grateful for that.

You hesitate for a moment, staring at your gleaming snow slowly graying as the snow plow tires threw up salt and pebbles onto it. You grit your teeth. Enough is enough.

You place this crook of your staff on the windshield. Frost spreads outwards from the point, the fern patterns growing thicker the longer it stayed. Inside, you see the driver squint at the glass, activating the double wipers. You laugh, freezing the wipers one by one. The man's jaw drops almost comically, and the cigarette falls to the floor as his hands finally fly to the proper ten-and-two positions, eyes wide.

You realize what's about a split second before it does.

The treaded wheels slip on a patch of black ice, and the truck swerves to one side, almost dislodging you. Inside, the driver seems to be in a panic. You hear the sounds of tires skidding, two horns blaring.

_Two horns?_

Your breath catches in your throat. _Head on collision head on collision head on collision oh MiM your fault someone's going to-_

Stop it.

You work quicker than you ever have before; time is the enemy. You work to unfreeze the ice, letting the truck gain traction before steering it off to one side by creating a curved barrier. The other car's emergency brakes slam violently on the slippery road, and it comes to a juddering halt.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Danger avoided. Both vehicles stop in their tracks, the truck turned at an angle. They only standing a few feet apart.

You finally glance up, and your heart catches in your throat.

Inside the teal Prius sits a mother and her son. They're both breathing hard, stark white. You meet the son's wide blue eyes through the glass. Blond hair hangs limply over his face, held back by the edges of rimless rectangular glasses.

It's Monty.

You stare at each other as his eyes narrow in realization. Betrayal is apparent on his face.

Monty is one of your strongest believers, one of your first ever since Pitch came back four years ago.

And you almost_ killed_ him.

Before you know it, the Wind has carried you off, not waiting for a command. You're high above the clouds now, and you don't look down as the Wind takes you far, far away from here.

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**AN**

**I'm experimenting with a new writing style. Not sure if I like it yet.**

**Only going to be four chapters long, and was originally going to be a one-shot... So yeah.**


	2. Isaak - In Which Jack Is Confused

**Set roughly twenty to thirty years after the first installment.**

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"Wind… What's that?"

Your voice is uncharacteristically soft, a barely heard murmur. Something about speaking right now, right here, in this moment, feels… wrong. Unnatural. Which is odd. No one can hear you. You're hundreds of feet above the ground, snowflakes swirling around you. But your very presence seems to be disturbing something, like you've stepped into a territory you're not supposed to be in. The world is white and silver, and you can't tell where the hills end and the sky begins.

But something caught your eye, something below you, a single dark spot upon a colorless backdrop. It's tiny, but that may just be the height speaking. It, whatever it may be, seems even more out of place than you are.

The Wind responds to your curiosity, and you begin to decline, shooting toward the spot. Snow buffets your, face but you ignore it.

It's only until you're a few feet from it do you recognize it, and your breath leaves you in a rush. It's a person, shrunken against the snow, a fine layer of snow drifting over them. They're curled into a tight ball, a heavy jacket tightened around them.

You land next to them. They have a fur-trimmed cap placed firmly on their head, the flaps blowing wildly. From their size, small as they are, this figure can barely be more than a teenager.

Fearing the worst, you crouch beside them, casting your staff to one side. You put a hand on their shoulder, and relief rushes through you. A believer. At least now you might be able to help them without passing through them.

What? _Might_ be able to? You're a Guardian, right? And a Guardian protects kids, especially from _their own element_.

Being careful not to move them too much from their position- thank MiM, they know how to keep warm- you take their wrist in your hand, pushing their mitten up slightly so you can feel their pulse. After what seems like an eternity of bated breath and terrified silence, you feel something bump against your fingers. It's soft, barely there, but it's something. You push the mitten back down, and begin the maddeningly slow task of unfurling the person across your lap. You lean down, tilting your head as you do so. You hover a few inches above their blue lips, and wait, listening. After a few seconds, you feel the tell-tale sign of warm air against your ear, a slow exhale.

You straighten again, and carefully shake their shoulders. It's a boy, you can tell, around fourteen or fifteen, older than most of your believers. Black hair frames a caramel face, his damp locks plastered by snow-

Snow. You look up, staring into the heavens. The spinning ice overhead decreases dramatically, and the world comes to a standstill. You focus your attention back on the boy again. He hasn't responded, so you shake him again, harder this time. He's not asleep, you know, but the cold has put him in a trance-like state. He seems to be a brink of passing out. And passing out in sub-zero temperatures can easily mean death.

You close your eyes in concentration, thinking quickly. You can't simply wrap yourself around him to preserve his warmth; you're probably colder than the snow you just stopped. The boy shivers in your arms, the first sign of movement. You quickly brush some hair some hair from his face, propping him closer to you. "Hey, bud, you all right?"

You know the answer, of course. The boy is freezing. But if he can understand and respond to that simple question, that proves his line of thought is still somewhat competent. Soon after, surprising you, you hear a barely whispered mumble.

"Hey, kiddo," you whisper. "Have you ever wanted to fly?" You lunge for your staff, shifting the boy's weight as you stand, carrying him bridal style. "Let's go."

You take to the air, the Wind moving the two of you gently but quickly; understanding the urgency of the situation.

_Civilization, civilization._ Where was the last place you saw people? You had been flying how long before you stumbled along the boy? Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Your thoughts are jumbled by panic. The boy's skin is cold against yours, and it only makes it worse that you can do absolutely nothing to warm him. The fast air is probably doing absolutely nothing to help with that, but it's the only way to move him quickly enough. His head rolls into the crook of your neck, the soft wool scratching your collar bone and filling you with new found resolve.

"C'mon, c'mon." You mutter aimlessly in frustration. The rough-hewn edges on your staff supply little comfort to you as you search the horizon frantically for signs of _anyone_. You fly for who knows how long, seeing nothing but white. The snow has been completely abolished, the sky becoming clearer as the clouds start to roll in different directions. The sun begins to shine through, a blizzard disappearing in a matter of minutes. It's harder to make winter leave than to bring it, but you're able to work quickly now. The light glints off the snow, brightness flaring everywhere. You ignore it, glad, not for the first time, that your powers allow you to be unaffected by things such as snow blindness.

_There!_ You squint, a small smile of relief forming on your face despite yourself at the faint outline of a small town in the distance. The Wind puts on an extra burst of speed, your enthusiasm reflected back at you.

You glance down at the boy, and your smile slips. He looks shrunken against you, and his violent shivers carry through and shake you as well. You shift him again, and he jolts in your arms. His lips and the tips of his ears are still blue, his nose and cheeks bright red. You can feel his thin chest moving ever so slightly, but his breathing seems to be slower than before. You hug him closer to yourself, shielding him best you can against the Wind's power.

The town can't come quickly enough, and when it does, it seems like a piece of rundown heaven. Snow blankets the ground, a two feet carpet. But people have already started to pry their doors open nonetheless, struggling their way onto their own porches. They seem harried, their layers shoved on. Your curiosity peaks at their worried faces, but you shove it off. The boy sags in your arms; some stiffness seems to be leaving him. You're unsure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but you need to find a warm home, quick. An open door, a window, something that you can get into.

You search quickly, trying to find a way in. As you go, you hear voices, everything from whispers to shouts. Something about the storm, searching, and someone named Isaak.

You speed around, until finally, there! A woman in blue skidding out of her door, her face set with steely determination. You fly through the opening before anyone can blink, heated air hitting your face, causing you to grimace. But for the first time in your life, you are totally ecstatic that there is a crackling fire, glowing blue at the base and flaring yellow at the tips. They lick the bottom of the mantle, bright and steady.

You ease the boy onto a couch, gently untangling him from you. You arrange him to be comfortable, leaning your staff against the arm rest for a moment to push the large furniture closer to the flames. You pause when you're finished, watching the boy's breath start to even. Already the warmth has brought color back to his cheeks and lips. You pause, taking a deep breath, "Good luck."

You turn to leave, almost at the door when you hear a loud moan behind you. You turn, and another groan comes, warbled this time, as if trying to form words. You rush back to the couch, crouching down with your back to the fire, not caring at the heat as you stare at the shifting form of the boy.

He moves again, this time so that he's facing you. His eyes are open now, such a dark brown they blend flawlessly into his pupils. Both of you sit, frozen, just looking at each other for a moment, taking each other in, before the boy speaks, voice cracked and rough, "It stopped snowing."

You can't help the nervous laugh that escapes you, the relief at him saying something so simple. You answer after a few seconds, "Yeah, it did."

"Why?" His gaze is wide, imploring.

"It… it…" You pause, thinking for a moment. A hand trails to the back of your neck. You take a deep breath. "You were cold enough. It didn't need to be any colder."

The boy just stares back at you for a while. His arm shifts on the couch, fingers uncurling slightly. "Can you make it snow again?"

Silence weighs down on you both. You take exhale slowly. "Of course I can, Isaak."

Isaak nods, eyes already drooping, "Thank you, Jack." His voice is slurring, and panic surges over you momentarily, before you realize he's just drifted off to sleep. Creakily, you stand, this time making it all the way to the door and out onto the porch. Numbly, you locate the woman who's house you left Isaak in, tapping her shoulder gently with your staff from behind. She jolts, spinning around. For a moment, she seems to meet your eyes. And then she skirts past you, back to her house. Even from down the street, you hear an exclamation of surprise and happiness.

Secure in the knowledge that Isaak is safe, you lift into the air, the Wind carrying you to the tops of the clouds, speeding you away from the village. It's only when you reach the outskirts of the town that your promise comes rushing backing to you. You hesitate for a moment, unsure. What if someone else…?

But no, you made a promise. And the one thing you can do now is keep it.

A gentle layer of dusty snow begins to float from the clouds, covering everything with a scattering of white.

But this doesn't seem to matter. It doesn't matter if it was indirect or not. Your season still caused this. _You almost killed a child._

And then you leave. You fly away. And you don't come back.

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**AN**

**And... that took a while. I feel like I'm drifting away from the style of the last chapter. I dunno.**

**By the way, I know absolutely nothing about freezing to death. Feel free to tell me if I got anything inaccurate!**

**To SylverEclipse: My evil plans? Mwahaha, they can never be foiled!**

**Okie, till next time!**


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